


Give It Time

by nevertoosweets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Marriage, One Shot, Pregnancy, References to Depression, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26591917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertoosweets/pseuds/nevertoosweets
Summary: “What if I can’t have them? What if my body is broken? After Dolohov and Bellatrix—”Draco sighed and reached over her back, picking up a white and pink stick from her nightstand. Testing by magic was more accurate of course, but Hermione had wanted to be sure. Really sure. He examined the stick, sighing again at the single pink line.“Don’t say that like it’s your fault, Granger.”Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the prickle of tears. The bedroom was silent for a while, Draco running his hands gently through her hair, before she spoke again, whispering with barely a breath: “I just want one.” It was almost a prayer—to whoever was listening. “So bad.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 240





	Give It Time

Hermione lay flat on her stomach, her face turned to the side, eyes mapping the curve of the forest green paint strokes on her bedroom wall. She felt like she was floating. Or just existing. Her mind was in a fog as if there was a film over her eyes as she tried to trace the lines of paint.

Next to her, the mattress dipped slightly and a hand rested on the small of her back, warm through the jumper she wore.

“What is it, Granger?”

From anyone else, this would sound annoyed, exhausted, but Hermione knew differently. Even if, for a brief moment, she felt a surge of irritation at the question. But she knew her husband was only seeking information, looking for help. _Help me, help you_ is what the question really meant. 

Irritation bubbled up in her stomach anyways. She didn’t _have_ an answer. At least not one easy answer. Why couldn’t he see that? Why did he have to ask?

She pushed the annoyance away again, and then the guilt she felt at letting it overtake her at all. It wouldn’t be fair to snap at him or brush him off. Draco knew better than anyone the fog that fell over her mind sometimes. The tightness in her chest. The slight shake to her normally steady wand hand. How it felt like a dementor had just flown into their flat and made themselves home there. The hopelessness and the anger because of feeling so helpless.

They’d both suffered under the Cruciatus Curse. _Post-traumatic stress disorder_ is what a Muggle doctor would have called it. The mind healers at St. Mungo’s just called it the “Cruciatus Effect.” Or the “You Were All Too Young to be in a War and Now Look at All of You disorder.” At any given moment something could trigger either of them to fall into the fog. Or trigger their heart to race with panic. 

And it didn’t even have to be related to what they’d suffered in the War. But most of the time there was a red thread that could be traced easily back.

“What if I can’t have them?” Hermione muttered into her pillow. Her eyes didn’t leave the swirl of one paint stroke, just slightly darker than the rest. “What if my body is broken? After Dolohov and Bellatrix—”

“Don’t, Granger,” Draco cut her off firmly, his hand now a sturdy pressure on her back.

Hermione pressed her lips shut, but she didn’t turn to face him. She kept still, letting the fog rest around her prone body, feeling safe in the numbness.

Draco sighed and reached over her back, picking up a white and pink stick from her nightstand. Testing by magic was more accurate of course, but Hermione had wanted to be sure. Really sure. He examined the stick, sighing again at the single pink line. _Not pregnant._

“Don’t say that like it’s your fault, Granger,” he said, tossing the negative test onto his nightstand behind him. “It’s not your fault they—She tortured me too. _He_ did and he did much worse.” Draco closed his eyes and took a steadying breath at the memory like his mind healer always reminded him to. He rubbed his wife’s back gently and whispered, “Maybe it’s mine—my body that’s the problem.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut against the prickle of tears. 

She shouldn’t have said anything. He was going to take it on himself. _He always does,_ she thought, _and he’ll beat himself up about this too._ The guilt from earlier morphed and grew.

“You don’t do that either,” Hermione whispered back, her voice thick. “Don’t take it out on yourself like always.”

Draco chuckled darkly and leaned down, kissing the back of her head. He moved his hand from the small of her back to her hair, smoothing down the curls he had disturbed. “We really are—what did your mum say the other day?— two peas in a pot?”

Hermione smiled against her pillow, but it fell from her lips just as quickly as it appeared. The bedroom was silent for a while, Draco running his hands gently through her hair, before she spoke again, whispering with barely a breath:

“I just want one.” It was almost a prayer—to whatever higher being was listening— Muggle or magical. “ _So bad_.”

Draco let out a breath. He pulled his hand from her mess of hair and stretched out on his side beside her.

“Look at me, Granger,” he said and tugged on a loose curl. 

She rubbed the mist from her eyes—tears and fog—and turned from her stomach to her side, facing him. Draco’s eyes were a soft gray in the evening light streaming from their upper flat window, but they didn’t waver as he stared back into her own amber eyes. He placed a hand over her cheek, his pale fingers a stark contrast to her caramel brown skin.

“We will have a child together,” Draco said. His voice was as steel as his eyes and Hermione fought against closing her own. His words broke through her fog, bit by bit. “It’s just going to take some time.”

“It’s been so long already,” she replied, her voice still as soft as a whisper. The fog threatened to consume her again and it felt so easy, her limbs still so heavy as she floated in it.

“It’s only been a year, Granger.”

Hermione sighed and let her eyes fall shut. Draco was right, but she hated to admit it. Not because she was wrong, but because she was impatient. 

It was a waiting game and there was nothing Hermione Granger hated more than waiting and not knowing. Magic and Muggle science could only estimate when she was ovulating during her inconsistent menstrual cycle when it was the best time to have sex and get pregnant. 

Not that finding time or energy to have sex was ever the issue—Draco and Hermione had a very healthy sex life— Ginny would argue too healthy having walked through the Floo at one too many inopportune moments. 

But there were so many factors, so many conditions that had to be _just so_ in order for anyone to conceive— even if they knew their moment of ovulation down to the hour. And that Hermione did not. 

Ever since Fifth Year, after Dolohov shot an unknown curse at her ribs, her period had come infrequently or too often. She could never predict it and had, at one point, taken to wearing pads every day for two months, just in case. Hermione had considered going on Muggle birth control in an attempt to regulate it, but after having to take almost ten different potions a day healing that curse, she didn’t want to risk what it would do internally. Her Muggle doctor couldn’t explain it either, telling her that everything looked healthy to her and that sometimes people just had inconsistent cycles.

And after Bellatrix tortured her on the floor of Malfoy Manor, she didn’t get her period for an entire year. Hermione had chalked it up to the stress of the War, but eventually, it returned and just as wildly infrequent as when she was sixteen.

So Hermione was rightfully nervous the evening after they visited Ginny, Harry, and newborn James Sirius, when her husband approached her eyes heavy and intense, mouth against hers, fingers under her shirt and dragging shivers across her skin, and whispered what she had been waiting two years to hear: _“Let’s have a baby.”_

She wanted to have that baby with Draco. She wanted so bad to give him a little curly-haired, blonde-headed, gray-eyed kid who smirked and loved books. She couldn’t even wait for the tantrums, to see that classic Malfoy sneer across a little boy’s— or girl’s— face as she told them no more sweets.

But every month, she waited. Impatiently. Helplessly. She waited for those two pink lines on that white stick. She twirled her wand over her stomach waiting for it to glow purple. And every month, she slumped against her bathroom cabinets and swallowed against the lump in her throat, the excited jitters in her stomach falling into a yearning pit.

A few times she thought she was just testing too early. She needed to give it more time. Wait a few more days and take another test. But their bathroom bin was soon filled to the brim with empty boxes and used sticks.

Draco sighed beside her on the bed and nudged her shoulder. “Granger?”

“I’m awake.” She opened her eyes to Draco’s soft smile.

“Do you want to go see a Healer again?” he asked. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’ll— I can go see one too. At least then we’d know if it really is me and we could…You’ve always said you wanted to adopt at some point.”

Hermione watched as the pain flashed across Draco’s face. She knew he didn’t mind the idea of adopting a child, but she also knew how deeply he wanted his own. “A boy,” he’d always said as she resisted rolling her eyes. “To carry on the Malfoy name, of course. Malfoy’s always have boys.” Hermione knew the pain it would bring Draco, the self-loathing that would consume him—as he was wont to do—if it truly was because _he_ couldn’t provide them a baby.

Hermione took a deep breath and stroked Draco’s cheek, brushing her fingers up the side of his face and down over the bridge of his nose, watching as her fingers smoothed the v between his brows. “It’s only been a year, Draco,” she replied, repeating his words back to him. “Let’s give it a couple more months.”

Draco caught her wrist and with his thumb, pushed her fingers away from her palm, releasing the fist she had unconsciously clenched. He brought her palm to his lips and pressed a kiss to its center.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered. 

She smiled and shifted closer to him, throwing her arm and leg over his side and resting her head alongside his own on his pillow. She pressed her lips forward, kissing him gently once, pulling away just enough that their noses brushed each other.

“And one day,” he continued, “we will make a child so smart and so perfect, unlike anything the Wizarding world and Muggle world combined had ever seen.”

Hermione laughed and the fog in her mind cleared a little, the film over her eyes disappeared and the blonde stubble on her husband’s chin was clearer, each hair more defined. “Still so pompous,” she teased.

Draco smirked and Hermione loved to see those pale pink lips up close, stretching into that familiar smile that years ago she had wanted to slap off—and had once—but now she just wanted to kiss away until he forgot what he was even thinking.

“Of course I am, Granger,” he said, arrogantly, “his mother saved the world and _his father_ is Slytherin’s best seeker, a genius, not to mention absolutely handsome and filthy rich—”

Draco’s words were swallowed by Hermione’s mouth, her lips pressed firmly against his own. He closed his eyes and sighed into her, bringing a hand up to her chin and tilting her head. Hermione used her leg, still curled over his side, to pull her hips forward against Draco’s groin and swiped her tongue once over his bottom lip. Draco groaned, and bringing his hand to her hip, he pulled her even farther into himself, rolling his hardening length against her. Hermione moaned at the delicious pressure against her core. She swiped her tongue along the seam of his lips again, and just as he opened his mouth to hers, she pulled away.

Draco’s eyes opened to Hermione’s grin.

“You’re a cruel witch, Granger,” he growled and Hermione’s laugh morphed into a sigh as he rolled his hips against her again, his denim trousers scraping along the front of her thin pajama shorts at the perfect angle.

“When we have a kid,” she asked, her voice breathy with want, “will you finally stop calling me ‘Granger’?”

Draco smirked again. He brushed his lips lightly against hers as his hands moved from her hips to the apex of her thighs and pushed the fabric to one side. His fingers trailed lightly on her skin and Hermione sighed in anticipation, silently asking for more as she pushed herself towards his hand. Her eyes closed and her lips reached for his. Draco sucked gently on her bottom lip, but as she did to him, he pulled away just as Hermione opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. 

He chuckled, and his lips brushing hers, whispered. “Never.”

“Malfoy,” she whined.

His hands were still stroking the skin underneath her shorts and she pushed her hips against his fingers, attempting to direct him to the spot she wanted most. His fingers dipped lower and he swiped them gently along the center of her wet, lace knickers, teasing her but not giving her exactly what she wanted. She uttered a sound that was like a whine and a sigh mixed together and he kissed her again before he could break the moment with laughter.

Hermione knew her thin, cotton shorts were soaked through at this point and she didn’t even want to think about the state of her knickers. Draco fingers were sliding gently over the lace on her center, an almost painful pleasure coursing through her. She felt a tightening inside her and tingle across her lower lips. She felt like if he dipped his fingers below the fabric, she might dissolve, come instantly in a quivering mess. 

After three years of marriage, how the hell did he reduce her to this nonsensical, crazed puddle at the brush of his hand?

His fingers pushed gently against her clit over the lace and she arched into him, her mouth tearing from his.

“Malfoy,” she panted, “If you don’t fuck me right now…”

He chuckled and grabbed her bottom lip between her teeth, pulling her mouth back against his. He helped her shimmy out of her shorts and kicked them to the end of the bed. Bringing his hand back up to her core, he wrapped his fingers through the top of her knickers, and just as Hermione raised her hips to help him take them off, he pulled up on the fabric. 

Hermione shot away from his lips again and groaned hard.

_“_ _Fuck!”_

She arched her back, pushing his hand hard against her core. The lace dragged harshly against her clit and she bucked her hips against it, begging for more.

Draco dipped his mouth against her neck, kissing and sucking at the crook of her neck like he knew she loved.

“What do you want, Hermione?” His breath was hot against her skin.

He pulled on the fabric of her knickers again, rubbing deliciously against her clit, when she didn’t answer. Her body begged for release.

Hermione dropped her head to his ear. “Inside me,” she panted. She slid her hand in between them and rubbed it against his length through his pants. “ _Now_.”

Draco groaned against her neck and bucked into her hand. He grabbed his wand from his back pocket and wordlessly vanished their clothes. Tossing his wand to the floor he gripped Hermione’s hips and flipped them around so she straddled him. She rocked herself against him, her wetness sliding and coating his length.

Draco’s eyes rolled at the feeling of his cock sliding through her wet heat. He pulled her mouth to his in a bruising kiss and Hermione reached an impatient hand between them, lining him up against her core. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth as she slid down, consuming him. 

Draco pulled away just enough to whisper, “I want to fill you.”

Hermione closed her eyes and bit back a moan. She had no idea until they started really trying for a child how much the idea of him coming inside her turned her on. And it seemed to do the same for him, Draco’s pupils blown wide as he held her hips in his hands, guiding her movements over him, drawing out the pleasure for the both of them.

She sat up and arched her back, grinding her hips down hard on his, feeling him hit that spot inside her that made shivers run down her spine. Draco’s moan vibrated through them.

 _His fingers are going to leave bruises on my hips again,_ Hermione thought and with a grin, she brushed her hand against his cheek, directing his eyes to hers.

“Make me come first,” she said.

Draco smiled and took her challenge, placing his thumb against her clit and circling it as she rocked harder, feeling him stretch her. 

His thumb and cock worked miracles as Hermione moved above him, the feeling in her core tightening and tightening. She threw her head back and pressed her hands against his between her thighs, grinding against his thumb, moaning and urging him, “There. There. Just there,” until finally, she crested, screaming her pleasure and falling forward against him, panting his name into his neck. 

Draco bit her shoulder and she cried out, moaning _yes_ against his ear as his hands grabbed her arse, lifting and pounding into her roughly, drawing out her release further. He was close, so close. 

“Fuck— Granger— love you— you’re so— _fuck!_ ” 

Draco climbed his own crest as Hermione came a second time, squeezing him for all he’s worth. With a final groan into her shoulder, he came, filling her completely. Hermione cried out as he finished, his harsh thrusts having rubbed perfectly against her, and she fell on his chest as they came down from their combined release.

The sweat from their bodies was slick between them, but neither moved, their chests panting in tandem against each other. Finally, Draco lifted Hermione off him and rolled them gently to their sides. He brushed the hair from her face as Hermione giggled, a euphoric instinct she couldn’t help after every time they had sex.

Draco laughed along with her this time. “ _Fuck, Granger,_ ” he panted, “if that gives us a child that would be alright by me.”

Hermione covered her mouth, her body shaking with the last of her silent giggles. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed, pressing her lips against his chest. “Shower?” she asked, kissing her way up to his neck.

“Please.”

* * *

Hermione slumped against her bathroom counter, sliding down the cabinets and landing hard on the floor. She put a hand over her mouth and tried to control the shaking in her other so she could read the white and pink stick correctly. Because it was correct, right? 

She scrambled for her wand she’d left in her robe pocket hanging on the bathroom door and waved it over her stomach, breathlessly whispering the spell and a prayer to Merlin—God—Salazar— _anyone_ who would listen.

And her wand tip hovering over her t-shirt clad stomach glowed purple. _Positive_. 

“Granger?” Draco’s muffled voice came through the bathroom door. 

Hermione jumped up, dropping her wand and the Muggle test. _Two pink lines. Pregnant._

“I’ve never seen you take so long getting ready. I hope you’re not attempting that makeup Pansy taught you on your own again.”

The door wrenched open and Hermione crashed into Draco, wrapping her arms and bare legs around him so fast he barely caught her arse under his hands. “Granger, you’ve not even showered,” he said, stepping back from the force as he held his wife, clad only in her oversized sleep shirt. “What—”

She garbled something against the hood of his jumper and he felt wetness along his neck.

“What?” he repeated. Draco shifted his arms and set Hermione down on her feet.

She pulled away from him, her face streaked with tears, but her smile splitting her face wide, radiating.

“It’s positive.”

“What is—” Draco started, but he looked behind Hermione into their bathroom and saw a white pink stick on the ground next to her wand which was surrounded by fading purple light. “It’s—” He felt his stomach hit the floor. 

All that waiting and finally— _finally_. A thousand emotions ran through him at once: excitement, fear, joy, overwhelming love he didn’t think he could have for anything other than his wife, _fear_. He shook that last thought off. He’d faced worse. And this time he wouldn’t be alone.

Draco grabbed Hermione and pulled her to his chest. “I love you so much, Granger,” he said, his face buried in her wild, morning hair. 

Hermione felt his lips brush her neck and she smoothed back his white-blonde hair. “I love you, Malfoy,” she whispered in return.

One of Draco’s hands slid from her back to her stomach, resting there as they held each other. Hermione smiled into his chest, and placing her hand over his, she breathed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is unrelated to my main fic [Different People](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350363/chapters/64174102), but it was important for me to write all the same. I've been going through a rough patch similar to Hermione and Draco here and writing it out with them has really, really helped me. Here's hoping I get the same ending soon. 🤞
> 
> (If you love Draco here then you'd love my husband who has been the most patient supporter to my wildly changing moods and constant desire for sex. This is dedicated to him.)


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